For Sigrid
by DancingInTheShire
Summary: Bard faces Smaug after what he did to his daughter.


"Are we going to die, Da?" Frightened brown eyes bore into Bard's. He looked away, knowing what the answer was.

_I don't know_. But he knew he had to do something.

BOFTABOFTABOFTABOFTA

As a child, Bard had always loved fire. He had many fond memories of sitting around a campfire, listening to his father tell exciting stories of Elves, Dwarves, and... Dragons. Back then, it seemed like another world, unreachable from his place in lonely Laketown. But now, it was so, so real.

Sigrid stirred in his arms, bring Bard back to the present. He traced her cheek, which only moments before had been almost set aflame by Smaug's fire. She winced, and he quickly drew his hand back apologetically.

"Da..." Sigrid opened her eyes. Those deep brown eyes that her mother had once had.

"Hey," he said softly, trying to keep his tears in check. "How are you feeling?"

Sigrid tried to smile. "I'm almost mad that I won't be here to see you slay that Dragon," she said, her voice growing weaker with every word.

"Don't say that." Bard choked, no longer caring that he had always thought himself to be above crying. "You'll be fine..."

But he knew she wouldn't.

She nodded, also knowing that she wouldn't be, but wanting to comfort him. She closed her eyes, feeling so, so tired. Just to sleep, just to be free from the fiery, agonizing pain that Smaug had caused her.

Bard held her charred hand up to his face, pressing in against his cheek, cringing at the heat. Tears fell freely now, falling onto her face.

"Don't cry..." She whispered, almost inaudible. She gently squeezed his fingers, then her hand went limp in his as her last breath escaped her body.

Bard held her to his chest, rocking her, just as he did countless times when she was a wee tot. He kissed her forehead, and sat in the darkness, amid the screams and shouts of his fellow villagers, not listening, and for a brief moment, not caring. But as he lifted his damp cheek off hers, something inside him snapped. His sorrow was replaced with anger. Anger at himself for not taking his children and getting out of there sooner, anger at the Dwarves for waking Smaug, and for not killing him when they did; and lastly, anger at Smaug for doing... this. He knew what he had to do.

Bard gently lifted Sigrid off his lap, and carried her to his bed. He lay her down, and kissed her forehead one last time. He didn't know if he would return.

"Don't worry," he whispered, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks. "I will kill that Dragon. I will get even."

BOFTABOFTABOFTABOFTA

Smaug was loving this. After being in the mountain for sixty years, it was nice to stretch his wings.

Bard caught a glimpse of him setting fire to a barn on the other side of town. The farmer, in a fit of rage, grabbed a pitchfork and lunged at him. Smaug, who didn't have time for such trivial matters, promptly set him ablaze, and turned, mid-flight, to see what else he could destroy in his fury.

Bard dashed to the boat where his son had stashed the Black Arrow. "_His son_!" He thought with alarm, then relaxed when he remembered. He had sent him with his little sister to safety. He wanted Sigrid to go with them, but she had flatly refused, saying she could stay and help. He didn't have time to argue.

With the precious Arrow under his arm, he ran down alleyways and back streets until he came to the Lookout, the place where someone had tried to kill Smaug before, but only managing to take a scale off him. That was all Bard needed, though.

One hand gripping the Black Arrow and one hand one the first bar, he pulled himself up one rung, but then stopped. Waves of self-doubt crashed over him.

What am I thinking, believing that I can do this? He thought. The one who tried before was ten times better than me, and failed! And I only have only one Arrow, and he had three. Another scream sounded close behind him, and Bard shook himself. He had to do this. He must. He thought of his Sigrid, lying lifeless, and now cold, on his bed at home. With that, he gathered his courage and once again firmly grasped the first rung.

"For Sigrid." He muttered, gritted his teeth, and began to ascend.

With every step up, Bard could see more and more of the chaos Smaug was causing. A woman screamed when Smaug picked up her husband and dropped him in the river. Then he circled around and lit her house- and the surrounding houses- on fire.

By this time Bard was at the top, clearing the cobwebs off the enormous bow that was anchored there. He slid the Arrow into place just as Smaug swung around and saw him. The monster locked his eyes on his and flew full speed towards him; he knew he'd be an easy target.

Some villagers, when they figured out what Bard was up too, fired their arrows at Smaug's head. The arrows, though totally useless, caused him to look down for a moment, exposing his side where the missing scale was. But a moment was all Bard needed.

Time seemed to stand still for him and the villagers. They watched the Arrow fly through the air, straight for the unprotected flesh. Bard shut his eyes, not wanting to see if he missed. Not wanting to see his failure and the deaths of his friends.

All was silent, then one of the villagers gave a faint cheer, too weak to do more. Bard hesitantly opened his eyes, then grinned. Smaug was hovering, but going lower and lower each second. Black blood poured down his flank where the Black Arrow protruded out of the wound it had caused. Now, all the villagers were cheering wildly as Smaug gave one last cry and crashed to the ground.

_Was it over_? Bard though as he climbed down the tower. _All these years of living in fear... Over_.

The men gathered around the base of the tower. When Bard reached the bottom, some of the men grabbed him and hoisted him onto their shoulders, parading him around the blackened, burned streets.

"Da!" Bard heard a shout and turned to see to figures running towards him. He knelt down, opening his arms. Bain and Tilda crashed into him, knocking him down onto to cobblestone street. At this scene, the villagers were reminded of their families and left to locate them.

Bain was the first to speak.

"Da... Where's Sigrid?" He asked, afraid of the answer. He knew that Bard would never leave her in a time like that, and Sigrid would never go off on her own.

Bard sighed, and stood up, taking one hand in each; Bain on his right, Tilda on his left.

"Come on... I'll show you."


End file.
